


The Love Thieves

by ch19777



Category: The Mentalist
Genre: Angst, Cheating, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Romance, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2009-06-06
Updated: 2009-07-20
Packaged: 2017-11-06 17:51:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/421639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ch19777/pseuds/ch19777
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A strange twist of fate brings Jane back into Lisbon's life after going separate ways for nearly two years. Although the attraction is still there, she shouldn't act on it. But can she really resist?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This has been bugging me for days. Or weeks even. Now I had to write it down before being able to continue with "One in a Million". 
> 
> It's just a little snapshot in time, even though I begin to warm up to the idea to add more to this and to let them meet again some day...
> 
> I totally stole the title from a Depeche Mode song, it seemed fitting. So, the title isn't mine, just as The Mentalist isn't mine.

A tough homicide case involving a kid.

Wrought-up emotions.

The blue-eyed consultant picks a fight.

A shabby motel room.

A knock at her door.

He comes to apologize.

And stays for more.

Lisbon knows she shouldn't do this.

But...

Mmh...

It feels so good.

So right.

Afterward, Jane studies her face for half an eternity.

She finally blinks.

Looks away.

Tries to hide what's going on inside her head, inside her heart.

"You think this was a mistake," he states, seeming almost untroubled by the realization.

Almost.

"I think we should make sure that it doesn't happen again," she tells him, evasively.

Her soul screams silently and suggests to take the words back.

She watches him get out of her bed and gather up his clothes from the floor.

Putting on his pants, he steals another kiss.

He clings to her like a man drowning.

She savors his delicious touch.

Her resolve falters.

No word escapes her mouth.

He turns his back on her as he walks toward the door.

She doesn't tell him that his shirt is still gracing the end of her bed.

A keepsake.

She'll pick it up later and breathe in his scent.

She doesn't stop him from leaving the room.

But she considers changing her mind after he is gone.

Tomorrow.

But she doesn't see him the next day.

Or the days and weeks and months afterward.

It is as if her words erased his mere existence.

It was a mistake.

Not sleeping with him.

Letting him slip away from her so easily.


	2. Relapse

Lisbon furiously storms into the lobby of a hotel in a small town, a locality she didn't even knew existed until a case brought her here four days ago.

Now she is forced to stay for another night - all because of this stupid sheriff, who wanted her to come by on her way to the airport to discuss her preliminary case report. In her opinion, there was nothing to discuss. She and her team caught a killer, the guy confessed, case closed. Unfortunately, Minelli's point of view differed from hers after the sheriff called him. By the time Sheriff Talbot finally let her go, the plane with the rest of her team almost landed in Sacramento.

She forces herself to calm down before walking over to the reception desk. The elderly gentleman behind it doesn't deserve to bear the brunt of her bad mood. He was nothing but nice to her the last days and can now hopefully check her in at the hotel for another night. He can. At least she doesn't have to look for another place to stay.

Picking up the room key and her bag, Lisbon takes her phone out of her jacket pocket and walks over to a quiet corner of the hall. She already called Minelli to inform him about her extended stay, but she needs to make another phone call. Even though she always feels a little stupid when talking to an answering machine, this time she is relieved when nobody is at home.

"Hey, it's me. Guess what, I'm still stuck here. I know I said I'll be there tonight, but I was held up and missed the plane. We'll just have to reschedule, okay? Don't be mad." She knows that she should probably give the message a more personal touch, but she can't bring herself to do so since she's not really talking to a human being. "Ehm, okay. We'll talk later. Bye."

Now that this is done, she wants nothing else but to take a shower, order some room service and end the day with watching some mindless stuff on TV. She waits for the elevator, deeply lost in thoughts, when a voice behind her startles her.

"That Sheriff Talbot can be a real pain in the ass, huh?"

A simple question, nothing more, but her heart starts pounding like crazy. It's not the words that throw her off balance, it's the voice. This familiar, teasing tone. No, this can't be. Not here. Her mind is playing tricks on her. She refuses to turn around, tries to find out if she would prefer the voice belonging to someone else or actually to the man she didn't see for almost two years.

"Lisbon?" The voice asks, dripping with amusement.

Lisbon closes her eyes.

She forgot how overwhelming his presence can be. No, not forgot. She pushed this information carefully away to the back of her mind and refused to let it surface again. Not that she was ever completely successful to avoid thinking about him. There were always little, everyday details that triggered a trip down memory lane.

A street artist performing a magic trick.

The empty couch at work.

A suspect refusing to reveal his secrets.

Every shabby motel room serving as her temporary home.

A glimpse of his left-behind shirt in the remotest corner of her wardrobe.

As it became more obvious with each new month that he was gone for good, she learned to let the memories not rule her life.

She gained new experiences of which he was no part of.

She met new people who didn't know anything about her past connection with him.

She moved on and left him far behind her.

She felt stronger and more self-confident about continuing her life without him with each passing day.

She was able to convince herself, that the incident in that motel room so many months ago was only a fling, a weakness on her part, and meant nothing.

She never really understood why he left.

She hoped that he was okay, maybe even happy, wherever he was.

She actually believed she was completely over him.

When she finally turns around and comes face to face with Patrick Jane, a materialized ghost from her past, she doesn't know what to believe anymore.

* * *

_TBC..._


	3. Hedonism

At the sight of him, Lisbon's face crumples for a moment before she gains control of her mien again.

"Jane?"

Her voice is not supposed to sound like this.

Raw with emotions.

Giving too much away by simply saying his name.

"Hi, Lisbon. Nice to see you. You look good," he tells her, with a surprisingly shy smile.

He looks the same as the last time she saw him.

No, not quite.

Looking _at_ him only _feels_ the same. Even though his hair is a little longer, the wrinkles around his eyes are deeper and he is noticeably skinnier - her heart doesn't register any of this and starts beating faster under his gaze.

"What are you doing here?" She manages to ask, trying to calm down her overflowing emotions with innocuous questions.

"I live here."

"In this hotel?"

"No, in this town. After traveling around, here seemed as good as anywhere to settle down."

Is it only a coincidence to have a case in the town Jane chose as his hideaway? Fate? She dismisses the second option. If this unexpected meeting would have happened long ago, she might have been willing to accept fate as an explanation. Now that she is - almost, pretty much - over him, it is rather a cruel cosmic joke.

Suddenly the first words he said, after sneaking up on her, sink in. "Wait a minute. What do _you_ know about Sheriff Talbot being a pain in the ass?"

"He owed me a favor. I wanted to see you," Jane simply states, shrugging his shoulders.

"I've been here for four days, Jane. You had plenty of time to approach me without manipulating me," she spits out, thankful for anger blanketing her other, more complicated feelings.

"Ambushing you here at the hotel when you came back tired and grumpy in the middle of the night didn't seem like a good idea and during the day you were always surrounded by people. Where are Van Pelt and Cho? I've only seen Rigsby."

Her irateness increases and she embraces it. "Seriously? You just made me miss my plane home and now you think you can lull me with small talk?"

"We can talk about something else, if that's what you want," he suggest, taking one step closer to her.

Sensing which other topic he alludes to, she backs away. He is much too close. His warmth, his smell, awaken memories she doesn't want to recall. His yearning eyes are gateways to doom. When he last looked at her like this, he had just successfully unclasped her bra. The memory hits her with unexpected force.

Impatient hands all over her body.

The sparkle in his eyes.

Hot breath on her skin.

The tip of his tongue tracing her areolas.

She looks past him to break the spell, to stop the surge of arousal that threatens to take her body and mind over. No, she certainly doesn't want to talk about the past. About _them_. Or about how she spent the time between that night and this very moment.

She opts for the safeness of answering his question. "Cho got promoted and now leads his own team in San Francisco. Van Pelt is just enjoying the last few days of her honeymoon."

He lets her get away with it, his eyes now expressing nothing but surprise.

She is safe.

"Grace got married? Not to Rigsby, obviously. Relationships between the members of the team seem to be star-crossed, huh?"

She should have known that feeling safe is only an illusion when being with him, a split second to breathe easily before he strikes again. For a moment she wishes he would have just watched her from afar instead of complicating her life. She purses her lips to stop herself from voicing the thought.

"Did you ever get a hold of Red John?" He now asks.

"What?" Lisbon rasps, confused by the sudden change of topic.

"Red John, remember? Crazy serial killer with a weakness for smiley faces, killed my family and many other people."

His tone is matter-of-fact, detached. She never before saw him so emotionless when he mentioned Red John.

"You would know if we had caught him."

"Not very likely. I avoid reading or watching the news. How many new victims since I left?"

"Only one, over a year ago. He seems to have stopped for now."

"Or _someone_ stopped him."

The sentence, the possible meaning behind it, has the effect of a cold shower on her. "What is that supposed to mean?"

He only looks at her, his inner struggle showing on his face. Instead of answering her question, he changes the topic again. "I've thought of you a lot in all those months."

"Jane..." She begins, wondering why she sounds so tender when her tone should be infuriated.

"Really, you were on my mind all the time."

"And all this thinking of me never made you pick up the phone to at least let me know you were okay? You have no idea how hard it was for me..."

Her voice trails off.

She said too much.

She exposed herself.

She needs to fix this.

"... to explain to Minelli that I lost our consultant."

He sees right through her. "I had no idea _Minelli_ took it that hard."

His perky smile is shaky, like he didn't use it for a very long time. Like he didn't get the chance to use it because he reserves it only for her.

"Well, he did," she replies, stubbornly clinging to her subterfuge.

"I picked up the phone many times," he confesses. "But calling you would have gone against the purpose of leaving."

She decides that she wants to know the reason of his disappearance. It never really made sense to her. "Why did you leave, Jane?"

"You said we should make sure that something like in that night never happens again. I knew I could only guarantee that if I didn't see you anymore. I would have constantly tried to change your mind if I had stayed."

"Maybe I wanted you to try changing my mind," she whispers, biting her lower lip to fight the tears that involuntarily begin to form in her eyes.

"Maybe I believed that it was better for you if I didn't."

"Maybe you were only too scared to try."

His hands reach for hers and she lets him take hold of them, despite knowing how dangerous this is. She is playing with fire, is all ablaze the second he touches her. His face inches closer.

Electricity.

Flying sparks.

Inside of her, ardent longing and her wavering mind fight a fierce battle.

Someone clears their throat. A middle-aged woman stands next to them. It takes a while until Lisbon realizes that she and Jane block the access to the elevator.

"Get a room!" The woman hisses when they allow her to pass.

Lisbon sobers immediately. Her hands retreat. "You should have stayed in your hiding place instead of reopening old sores, Jane."

"Maybe." He smiles a sad smile. "But I got weak when I saw you."

"You should leave now." Once again her voice betrays her, is shaky when it needs to be firm.

"I can't, Teresa."

The use of her first name throws her for a loop. She should just turn around and leave, shouldn't face up with his reasons to initiate contact with her after such a long time. But...

"What do you want, Jane?"

"When does your flight go?"

"About 4 PM tomorrow."

She'll board the plane and go on with her life and will never see him again. And it will be okay.

She'll be okay.

She is determined to be okay.

Without him.

"You'll check out when? At 1?"

"Noon."

He glances at the clock above the elevator doors, then faces her again.

"Give me the next 16 hours and 12 minutes of your life. That's all I'm asking for."

She notices that he doesn't say it is all that he _wants_.

She doesn't ask how he plans to spend those hours.

She knows.

The prescience of ruffled bedclothes is reflected in his eyes.

Hangs in the air between them.

His offer is ridiculous.

She thinks of all the reasons to decline.

The Red John enigma.

The fact that he tricked her into this situation.

Her hand disappears in her pants pocket and her fingertips brush against its content.

The main reason to reject him.

And still, it doesn't seem reason enough in this moment.

There is only one motive to give in to temptation: She wants to.

Badly.

She wants to see that rare addicting, genuine smile again that graced his lips after kissing her for the first time.

Her hand reappears, empty.

Her mouth is dry.

She swallows.

She feels herself nod.

It still would have been possible to change her mind during the elevator ride up.

She could have still backed out when she fumbles for the key and he puts his arms around her waist from behind.

It is too late when they enter the room and his body presses hers hard against the closing door.

His tongue enters her mouth as the door clicks shut.

She is certain she'll regret this.

His hands are all over her.

She'll hurt him, hurt herself.

Her jacket and blouse land on the floor.

She'll feel guilty.

Her hands go for the buttons of his shirt.

She refuses to think about the consequences any longer when his lips place feathery kisses along her neck.

The future doesn't matter right now.

Tonight they are simply a man and a woman in a hotel room.

Just Patrick and Teresa.

Until noon tomorrow.

* * *

_TBC..._


	4. Concupiscence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to changed the rating to M now. If you are not interested in reading about Lisbon and Jane's sex life, now is the point to stop reading.

Lisbon feels Jane's slight stubble scrape her cheek when he leans his face against hers while unzipping her pants.

The rough, wet texture of his tongue slides over her neck while his fingers stroke her through the thin material of her panties.

She presses into him.

Feels the muscles of his arms under her hands.

She takes the delicate flesh of his earlobe into her mouth to suck on it.

The intensity of her arousal overwhelms her.

She feels herself losing control.

Losing the good sense for which she is known.

She pulls back.

Stumbles backwards to sit down on the bed.

Takes a moment to calm down.

To breathe.

He apparently doesn't share her insecurities.

Standing in front of her, he strips down.

Completely.

He looks at her.

Provocatively.

Teasingly.

She was never one to resist a good challenge.

She stands up and slips out of her jeans.

Looking down at her flushed skin, she wishes she'd chosen more exiting underwear today.

She takes off her simple white bra, tosses it carelessly away.

His eyes widen.

He instinctively licks his lips.

The breath catches in her throat as she realizes the inevitability of what they are about to do.

She tiptoes to capture his lips with hers.

Pulls him closer to feel the warmth of his bare skin against hers.

In response, he hardens against her abdomen.

Suddenly the silent exploration of each other's bodies gets interrupted.

Her cell phone rings.

She stiffens in his arms.

He stops stroking her back.

She curses the phone for ringing.

Wishes it had rung _before_ she took him up to her room.

"Are you going to answer this?" He asks after the fourth ringing.

He sounds amused.

But also scared to death.

She shakes her head.

Frees herself from his embrace.

The intruding noise finally stops.

She walks over to look for the phone in the pocket of her jacket on the floor.

She doesn't check who called.

She doesn't have to.

She shuts the damn thing off.

Don't ask who it was, she silently pleads when she faces Jane again.

He doesn't.

He only reaches for the waistband of her panties to help her out of them with unhurried hands.

As he twirls her sensitive nipple between his thumb and index finger, she feels the telltale wetness spreading out between her legs.

She tentatively reaches out to touch his penis.

Sliding her fingers from root to tip and back again, she revels in her ability to make him moan.

She gets braver.

Cups and strokes his balls.

He throws back his head and lets out a surprised noise.

She grins at him.

Climbs onto the bed.

Lays down.

Invites him with one venturous look to join her.

She feels aroused and insecure at once under his intense gaze.

She successfully fights the urge to pull back the comforter and slip under the covers to hide from him.

He picks up his jacket from the floor and conjures up a box of condoms.

It is obvious that he planned ahead.

That this wasn't a spontaneous idea during their chat in the hotel lobby.

That he hoped - _knew_ \- she'd agree to this.

She isn't angry.

Nor irritated.

She only feels more desirable than ever.

And less able to resist him.

But she doesn't like the idea of an artificial barrier between them.

According to her doctor she is completely healthy.

She suppresses the thought of all the tests she willingly endured just ten days ago.

She refuses to rationalize things tonight.

She looks at the condoms in his hands.

Looks into his eyes.

Shakes her head.

"I didn't sleep with anyone since that night with you," he states, answering her unspoken question.

She simply stares at him.

Closes her eyes.

Opens them again.

Blinks.

Inhales deeply.

Regrets that she couldn't be a woman so engrossed in her mourning for a lost love that no other man had the chance to lure her into his bed.

She wishes she would be able to honestly tell him that all the time she was only waiting for him to return.

Instead, "I'm on the pill."

He wavers for three seconds, then the box lands on the floor by the door.

His eyes are full of conflicting emotions.

He has _that_ look.

The look that makes her believe he sees right through her, knows all of her innermost secrets.

Maybe he does.

A part of her hopes that he is strong enough to do what she can't and end this before it even really begins.

But no, suddenly he is looming over her.

His tongue circles around her right nipple.

Evokes old memories.

Creates new ones.

Leaves a trail of saliva between her breasts.

On her stomach.

Slips subtly between her labia.

Teases her.

Causes her to bury her hands in his hair.

Drives waves of electricity through her whole body.

Elicits hoarse moans from her throat.

Lets her fall into a black hole of lasciviousness.

Causes her to tremble uncontrollably.

Suddenly the oral stimulation becomes more than she can bear.

And it isn't necessary.

She is ready.

She wants him.

Inside of her.

Now.

The grip of her hands on his curls tightens.

He is oblivious to the pain her action sure causes him.

"Jane," Lisbon pleads, but her voice is too shaky and low to catch his attention.

"Patrick," she says, more insistently. "Please."

This time he looks up.

His eyes meet hers.

He understands.

Crawls up to crash his lips into hers.

She tastes herself in his kiss.

She doesn't care.

She just breathlessly kisses him back.

Spreads her legs wider to give his body space.

Her hips jerk up when the tip of his penis briefly, accidentally brushes against her aroused clitoris.

She fails to stifle a giggle when he repeats the sensation on purpose.

Her voice sounds strange even to her own ears.

More at ease.

Happier.

She wonders if being with him brings out her true self or makes her lose touch with the woman she believes to be.

She doesn't have time for further analysis.

He enters her unhesitatingly with one swift motion.

Begins to move before she can comprehend the feeling of suddenly, wonderfully having him inside of her.

His thrusts are rapid.

Forceful.

Heavenly.

Almost violent.

Just right.

Her fingernails dig into the skin of his back.

Mark their territory.

His face rests at her neck.

The sound of his agitated breathing drives her wild.

He teasingly pulls out completely.

She protests.

Begs.

He plunges into her again.

Deep.

Repeatedly.

Deeper.

Not deep enough.

She tucks up her legs.

Wraps them around his waist.

Tilts her pelvis higher.

Uses her hands on his buttocks to bring him in deeper.

She gasps when he hits her cervix with the next thrust.

He stops his vigorous rhythm to look at her.

His eyes are brimful of worry.

Love.

They remind her why she never really got over him.

Why she is with him in this room right now.

"Don't stop," she breathes to make him bury his head at her shoulder again.

To make it possible for her to pretend that this is merely physical.

A result of extreme horniness that clouds her judgment.

He doesn't make it that easy for her. "I don't want to hurt you, Teresa."

She bites her lips to choke back her overflowing emotions.

"You don't," she whispers.

She can tell that he doesn't believe her.

But he starts moving again nevertheless.

Soon her insides expand.

Pulsate.

Flow.

Flare up.

She moans.

Loud.

Cries out his name.

Louder.

A burst of heat, light, shoots through her.

Crawls up her spine.

Blinds her.

She doesn't realizes that her eyes are closed until the fierce spasms are replaced by soft aftershocks.

Her eyelids flutter.

Struggle.

When she finally is able to open them, she looks into his stunned face.

She feels bare.

Unprotected.

Amazed that she was able to lose control like this with him.

That she allowed him to see her so intimate.

She can tell that he is holding back his own orgasm, neglected it to watch her climax.

She lets her inner walls clasp his penis tightly, squeeze it.

She encourages him to let go.

To lose control as well.

He takes the invitation, dives into her again.

Hard.

Fast.

Deep.

His back muscles tense under her hands.

Sweat sparkles on his forehead.

Drips onto her chest.

Until he finally explodes inside of her.

Fills her.

He groans.

Quivers.

Smiles.

Looks more content than she ever saw him before.

Finally he nestles to her shoulder and they lay there perfectly still.

Tangled together.

Panting.

Calming down.

Clinging to each other.

Her legs are still tightly wrapped around him.

She refuses to let him slip out of her already.

Dreads to face the aftermath of their lovemaking.

But eventually he withdraws, rolls them over to lie on their sides.

They are facing each other.

He gives her no chance to escape his eyes.

She surprises herself when she doesn't feel the need to avoid his look.

When she even smiles at him.

She reaches out to caress his cheek.

Grins when he kisses her fingertips.

She wants to feel guiltier.

No, she _should_ feel guiltier.

But all she can feel is the perfectness of the moment.

Jane.

She inhales the scent of their lovemaking.

Basks in the intimacy she just shared with him.

Catches herself oversimplifying the situation.

It isn't simple at all.

Isn't all bliss.

But she wants to be oblivious tonight.

There will be time enough later to feel the burn of guilt.

Time to cry.

Time to think about consequences.

To make decisions.

Tonight she just wants to fall asleep in his arms.

Feel safe in his embrace.

She barely notices him pulling out the comforter from underneath her and wrapping it around their bodies as she drifts off to sleep.

* * *

_TBC..._


End file.
